Unity
by trollnexus
Summary: Blaise finds out that falling in love is a curse.


**Title: **Unity

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of these characters; the whole Harry Potter universe was the brainchild of JKR.

**Pairings:** Unrequited Blaise/Pansy, canonical Draco/Pansy, complicated friendship Blaise/Millicent (I view them as moirails), faintest hint of unrequited Millicent/Pansy. Also a very complicated Blaise/his mother if you want to view it that way, although there is no incest here.

**Rating:** T. As heavy as the subject matter is, nothing's explicit or particularly traumatic, and I even refrained from swearing!

**Warnings:** Oedipal!Blaise, character death, lots of ambiguity, and a pretty Blaise-centric story, despite it being "Post-War." And actually, this story is pretty dark in my mind, but I'm not sure how it comes off in the reading of it.

**Summary:** Blaise finds out that falling in love is a curse.

**Word Count**: 2,976

**Prompts**: Post-War, Morbid, Ceremony, and the dialogue "The curse has been in our family for six generations."

**Author's Note:** This is my entry for Round 6 of the Quidditch Fanfiction Competition.

Welcome to the most difficult story I have ever written. Not difficult as in I had writer's block, but difficult thematically. There's so much I'm trying to say, but it's all between the lines due to this word limit.

Let's just say I have completely reworked the idea of "Post-War." Yes, there is the canonical war in the background, but the main war is...well, you'll find out.

* * *

Before Blaise entered Hogwarts, he had thought his mother was the epitome of womanhood.

Most wealthy Pureblood women dumped their children on their house-elves, focusing on throwing parties and maintaining influential connections for the benefit of their husbands, but his mother never had a consistent husband to benefit, since they all invariably died within a few years. Thus she viewed Blaise's very existence as a miracle and proceeded to treat him like one, forbidding the house-elves to even come near him unless it was an emergency.

He grew up chasing after her long, flowing robes, often rubbing his cheek against the soft fabric whenever he got the chance, and she always chuckled and patted his head, sometimes even picking him up whenever she was having a good day.

His mother always had the best robes. There were the everyday cotton robes, of course, for when she simply wanted to move around the house.

Yet there were also special occasions, such as weddings. Whenever she was a guest, she would wear something pastel, cheerful but not too eye-catching, respecting the bride's right to be the centre of focus.

When she was the bride, however, she would literally shine. Every set of wedding robes was styled differently, according to the occasion, but they were always the brightest shade of white humanly possible. Blaise saw pictures of her first wedding, and the robes had engulfed her whole body, elaborately voluminous with a train so long that she required three people to hold it up. She had looked so small and shy back then, as if led by the robes themselves.

Subsequent weddings, however, showed a more confident bride, with her robes shrinking as she grew in stature. One of the most memorable set of robes was the one where the hem seemed slashed from the middle of her right thigh down to her left ankle. Even in the pictures, one could see the horrified expressions of the elderly matrons in attendance, but she grinned and held her head up high, her diamond necklace sparkling in the sunlight.

Morbidly, however, Blaise actually did not like her wedding robes as much as he liked her funeral dresses.

Even as a child, he was well-aware that the gossipmongers nicknamed his mother "The Black Widow," due to her dark complexion and the fact that all her husbands died so soon. There were many nasty rumours about the reason for their deaths, some of them unprintable.

Yet she never let those rumours cow her. At every funeral, she would take the theme of black mourning and reinvent it. Once, she made a beautiful bow out of her own black curls and wore a long-sleeved, pleated lace black dress with fishnet stockings and diamond earrings larger than any she had worn to her weddings. At another funeral, she wore an off-the-shoulder, corseted dress with metal hoops to enlarge the skirt, so that she automatically created a radius of distance between her and everyone else except for Blaise, who had never been afraid of her clothes.

The most offensive (and the best, in his opinion) funeral outfit, though, was when she wore a short, tight-fitting tube dress and a black large-brimmed hat with giant black vulture feathers, which she claimed her late husband, a bird enthusiast, would have adored. All the guests turned pale and refused to even look at her, and thus Blaise got her all to himself.

When his mother had sat him down after the fifth funeral ceremony to explain that all these deaths were the result of a family curse, 10-year-old Blaise had buried his face into her chiffon-covered chest and sighed happily that it didn't matter, since he would never want anyone in his life other than his mother, anyway.

* * *

When Blaise first met Pansy, he was unimpressed. In fact, he thought she was the most unattractive girl in their year, despite the fact that everyone else ribbed on Millicent. Indeed, he suspected that all the Millicent-targeting was led by Pansy in a fit of jealousy, because at least Millicent had integrity.

With Millicent, one knew where one stood. She never smiled falsely or encouraged false notions. She was still pretty damn ambitious and cunning like the rest of the Slytherins, but she kept other people's secrets and never broke her promises, and that was why people liked making deals with her. Her cunningness actually lay in the fact that she was not cunning at all.

The same could not be said for Pansy. People could not trust Pansy. No matter how sweetly she smiled, one knew that she held a knife behind her back, ready for stabbing whenever she felt betrayed.

Blaise always steered clear from her, for he saw in her all the women who had ever said nasty words about his mother behind her back, and thus Pansy spread the rumour that Blaise was "cold and aloof" for refusing to be her friend. He did not mind. There were worse descriptors than those.

* * *

In third year, however, Millicent confronted him after Potions class, much to his surprise.

"Blaise…while I appreciate you implicitly standing up for me, I do not think it wise to spurn a potential connection with Parkinson. Her family is much more influential than mine—"

He cut her off with an upturned nose. "What makes you think I have given _you_ any preferential treatment, hm? Perhaps I just don't enjoy the company of a shrill, pug-faced brat like her."

Millicent smiled serenely. "Well, I'm sure your mind will change someday."

Before he could demand an explanation for the confidence in her demeanour, she had already walked away.

* * *

As if Millicent's cryptic words were a prophecy, Blaise found his attitude towards Pansy changing after that. More and more, he realised that she was not just an archetypal bully. For example, although she did make fun of Millicent a lot, she actually allowed Millicent to make fun back, although she still set boundaries and sulked if Millicent went "too far."

The same went for the other girls around her, and as they all matured together, they began to understand each other better. Pansy was actually not too difficult to "deal with," as long as one saw her invisible lines and stepped accordingly. Increasingly, it was only those outside Slytherin that ever complained about her, because only they failed to understand what made Pansy tick.

Even Blaise, male and aloof as he was, began to understand her better through involuntary observation. Pansy Parkinson, at the heart of it, was just a woman with tighter boundaries than most other women. While his mother was more resilient and able to negotiate boundaries to suit her, Pansy was more rigid and inflexible, due to insecurity and immaturity.

Once Blaise finally had an explanation for her inner workings, he began to notice her outer workings. Yes, she was pug-faced, and yes, she was too thin and wiry for his taste, but at the same time, she still had a certain nimble grace about her, especially when she weaved her way through the halls of Hogwarts, holding her robes close to her body. She would never have anything near his mother's flamboyant elegance, of course, but…maybe she had a charm of her own.

* * *

By the time he was fourteen, he realised that he was in danger of loving a woman other than his mother, and that was when he recalled those grave words he had ignored four years ago.

"Our family is cursed, my son," she had said to him. "The curse has been in our family for six generations. Every time we fall in love, the one we love is doomed to die.

"I am a stubborn fool, of course. I keep thinking that I'll beat the curse by avoiding love, by marrying the most repulsive men I can find, but you know what? Everyone is lovable; everyone has something to love. And the moment I realise that, they slip through my fingers. I really am the Black Widow."

Now he took those words seriously. No matter what, he had to avoid falling in love with Pansy Parkinson.

* * *

"I know Pansy expects me to ask her to the Yule Ball, but I don't want to go with her! I don't even like her that much, Blaise, but she just keeps _clinging_, and I know there'd be consequences if I were to reject her openly."

Blaise stifled a sigh of frustration. Here was Draco Malfoy, the luckiest man in the world, whining about his luck! He had no idea why Draco had chosen him to be his sounding board, anyway. Were Greg and Vincent too stupid to listen to one of his rants? Where the hell was Theo when you needed him as a conversational shield?

"Draco, you know that you will take her to the ball in the end. You have no better offers to use as an excuse, and besides, I hear she can dance well. At least she won't be stepping on your toes."

"I suppose you have a point." Draco sniffed. "At least she's not Millicent. Can you imagine?"

He could, and the thought of Draco disparaging such a decent person aggravated him. "Well, I don't know about you, but I rather like the idea of having her as a dance partner. I know I would look incredibly handsome in comparison. I think I will go ask her to the ball."

It was always satisfying, being able to make Draco Malfoy gape at him like a land-stranded fish.

* * *

As Blaise expertly twirled Millicent on the dance floor without the slightest sign of fatigue (he had had plenty of practice with his own voluptuous mother, after all), he could not help but gaze longingly at Pansy, who glowed in Draco's arms while still striving to maintain the façade of cattiness.

"You know," murmured Millicent as she leaned her head on his shoulder, "I think Draco would make a decent husband for her. As petulant as he is now, I'm sure he will mellow out once he becomes master of the Manor. Besides…times are changing. I do not think he will be allowed to be childish for long."

Blaise furrowed his brow. "What do you mean? Why shouldn't he be an immature brat forever? Doesn't that happen to a lot of people?"

"I hear rumours that the Dark Lord is rising."

Blaise froze, missing a step and almost causing the two of them to topple over. "How do you kn—"

"Irrelevant." She led them back into step. "The important detail is that if that should happen, all our social mind games will become null and void. I cannot predict whether or not that will be a good thing for Pansy; all I can conclude is that conclusions are impossible right now."

Blaise looked over at Pansy, who suddenly seemed very frail to him.

"Don't be a Gryffindor, Blaise," chided Millicent. "Whatever happens, I'm sure Pansy can save herself."

* * *

The years after that became a horrifying flurry of activity, mostly war-related, especially since the Dark Lord had resurfaced. Blaise tried his best to stay out of it, citing his uncertain parentage as a deterrent for those who might have wanted to recruit him as a Death Eater, and he knew that Millicent did the same. Together, the two of them threw themselves into their studies and became academic partners, much to the amusement of their fellow Slytherins.

Blaise did not mind. He knew that the best way to survive was to hint that he was inferior while still acting self-assured, for there was a certain balance that would get him into the safe zone in the middle. No matter which side won the war, he would keep himself safe. All he cared about was being alive. Politics could go hang.

He wished Pansy would do the same, but he knew it was futile. She had always been outspoken and abrasive, and although he found that charming, he knew it grated on a lot of other people, especially non-Slytherins.

* * *

"But he's there! Potter's there! Someone grab him!"

Blaise closed his eyes, even as all the non-Slytherins rounded on Pansy for trying to hand Potter over to the Dark Lord.

She was now singled out and marked for death. No matter what happened in this war, no one would trust her ever again.

Maybe Blaise had failed to control his feelings and set the curse on her, anyway.

* * *

Now it was the aftermath of the war, and Blaise had returned to Hogwarts to help in its rebuilding.

Several people were surprised to see him there, but they weren't hostile. Everyone knew that Zabini only cared about earning good marks. He was one of the few decent Slytherins, they told themselves. He was never a Death Eater.

As he levitated bricks with his wand and sealed them together with careful spellwork, he tried his best not to think of his mother at home, who was mourning the death of yet another husband.

Why did she keep trying, anyway? Why didn't she just stay away and accept loneliness like he did? Was she that in love with love? Or was she simply in love with the ceremonies associated with love and its death?

Despite himself, he thought of Pansy, now awaiting trial for her involvement with the Dark Lord. Rumour had it that Potter was going to all the trials, testifying for a select few. He had already helped to spare Draco. Perhaps he would help Pansy, too?

Blaise shook his head and levitated another brick. No. Why would Potter help the one person that tried to turn him in to the Dark Lord?

Pansy was fated to die. Either she was going to die from her own actions, or she was going to die from Blaise's illogical love for her. Maybe it was better this way. At least she got to die of her own free will.

"Hey, stop being morbid over there. I can see that you are slacking."

Blaise whipped his head around, and there was Millicent, lifting bricks with her bare hands.

"Milly. What are you doing here?"

"What the hell do you think? Rebuilding this cursed school, of course. After all, this was our home for roughly seven years. I don't know about you, but I'm pretty grateful to have had a place to belong."

He studied her face for a long moment.

No, he would never fall in love with her. It just wasn't in him to feel any romantic love for her, never mind what his mother said about everyone being lovable. She was just too much like his mother. Big, beautiful, and dependable. He almost wanted to reach out and fold her into his arms, just to see if the robes she was wearing were anywhere near as soft and comforting as his mother's.

She held up a brick and waved it threateningly. "Stop ogling me, you strange peasant. This school will not rebuild itself."

He smiled wryly and shook his head. "Do you think things will ever be fully rebuilt?"

She set the brick down, sighing. "If you mean rebuilt back into a fantasy point in our memory where you think everyone was happy, then no. We will never have that. But you know what we _can_ have in a post-war world? A future. Because, wouldn't you know it, we're still alive, and there's still a tomorrow to face."

He turned away, not wanting to show her his expression. "What if…what if tomorrow is not worth facing?"

He jumped as he felt her hand on his back. "Hey. I know what you're thinking about. Pansy…well, Pansy made her decisions, and now the consequences will come. It is completely out of your hands. Stressing out about it is pointless. Besides, even the end result will be irrelevant to you. Aren't you cursed, anyway?"

"Somehow, that does not cheer me up at all."

"Hey, I'm a Slytherin, not a Hufflepuff. Sunshine yellow isn't in my repertoire."

He reached back and patted her arm. It would have to do.

* * *

Pansy Parkinson was laid to rest in a private ceremony open only to family and friends.

She had never gone to trial. Newspapers reported that when the Ministry arrived at her house to take her to court, they found her laying peacefully in her bed, never to wake up again.

Healers were confounded as to cause of death. There was no evidence of any spells or poison, and _Priori Incantatem_ on her wand did not reveal _Avada Kedavra_. It was as if she simply decided that waking up was a nuisance.

She looked strange in her casket, her face naked without the pettiness. It was never meant to be slack, but now it was. Blaise felt afraid to touch this strange version of her, but Millicent had no such qualms. She gripped Pansy's hand and trembled uncontrollably.

Blaise had to wonder if maybe she had loved Pansy more than she let on.

After a while, he pulled her away. They stood in silence as the rest of the guests viewed the body.

After the service was over and they were walking towards the Apparition point, she turned to him. "Please inform your mother that my parents have agreed to the contract."

He faced the newly instated mother of his future children. "Are you sure about this?"

"Yes. Life must go on, and both our families need an heir."

"Do you think we'll be able to escape the curse?"

She nodded her head towards Pansy's new gravesite. "I think the key is to never forget her."

He hugged her, but only to hold together her cracking voice. She was family now, and family did not let each other fall apart, especially not in public.

Besides, wars come and go, but true wizards and witches find a way to carry on.


End file.
